


the name on his lips

by professortennant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Missions, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 02:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8872393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professortennant/pseuds/professortennant
Summary: Phil is on a solo mission and when he think his comms are off and he’s alone….he has a little private time to himself.  Then he hears Melinda’s hitched breath and realizes he just came with her name on his lips and she heard every word.





	

Phil Coulson, despite his all-american good looks and general boy scout attitude, hates camping. Even if he loves the adventure and sense of grandness he feels in the wide open space, he hates bugs and no electricity and he misses his comfy bed and the big kitchen in the bunker and--

“Phil, you read me?”

May’s voice filtered in through his comms system, concerned. He grimaces, smacking a mosquito off his neck. “Yeah, loud and clear, May. Just settled in for the night.”

“You bring your Captain America sleeping bag?”

He rolls his eyes, “Don’t leave home without it.” In reality, he has a small combat sleeping bag, a flashlight, and an odorless, tasteless protein bar. Of all the missions he could have taken....

Before he can grumble and complain to May, she’s telling him to get some sleep and she’ll check in in the morning with a scouting report. Phil gets out a soft, “Goodnight, May,” and then he’s settling into this sleeping bag and waiting for the morning to come.

He wishes he had brought a book or something to do. It’s a solo mission, so there’s not even anyone to play “I Spy” with. Phil’s not sure even if Melinda were here that she’d play with him. 

With a sign, he turns on his side and tries to get comfortable. The ground is hard and unforgiving. He misses his soft bed and the comforting hum of the bunker’s electricity and the soft rumble of the pipework. He misses seeing May before bed, just a touch on the arm and a “See you in the morning” but it’s something that’s become part of his routine, his life. Just like her.

May....

It’s then that it occurs to Phil just how alone he is. He hasn’t had a moment to himself in months and he’s starting to get a little wound up, that feeling like his skin is just a little too tight for his body. 

Rolling back over onto his back, he slips his hand under the waistband of his sweatpants, his synthetic hand cupping his cock softly, rubbing slowly up and down. He thinks of Melinda’s voice--low and sexy--and wonders what she’d whisper in his ear to get him hard. He imagines her lips brushing the curve of his ear, "Touch me.”

Phil groans, his eyes fluttering shut. He’s hard now and he opts to switch hands, preferring the more natural feel of his own skin. He imagines it’s May’s hand working him, her mouth busy sucking a mark on his neck. Her teeth would be sharp on his skin and he the thought of her mark on him--branding him--makes him hiss out, “Fuck, Melinda.”

His hand moves faster over his cock, pumping up and down. His free hand comes up and runs from his neck and down over his chest and stomach. He imagines the way she’d kiss him, maybe stopping to nip at his hipbones and press a kiss to his stomach. She’d look up at him through dark lashes, her eyes warm and mischievous, as her tongue flicks out to swipe at the fluid at the tip of his head.

“Fuck, Mel. Fuck.” His hand twists in time to the thoughts of her mouth on his member, tongue swirling and head bobbing. He knows he’s groaning out her name and he’s never been more glad he’s out in the middle of no where.

When he comes, it’s with a cry of, “Melinda,” just as he hears a sharp intake of breath in his ear. Phil’s previously racing heart comes to a stuttering halt and his fantasy melts away until all he’s left with is a dry mouth and sticky hands.

He closes his eyes, mortified. “M-May?”

There’s a beat of silence and then her voice--the same voice he’d been fantasizing about not 5 minutes earlier--answers, “I kept the comms line open in case you needed help.”

Maybe, Phil thinks with a hopeful plea, maybe she didn’t hear. He clears his throat and reaches for the hand sanitizer and rag in his bag, cleaning himself up quietly. “No, no I didn’t need help.”

“Clearly.”

Shit.

Okay, so she heard. It’s fine, he thinks, she’s seen and heard worse at the academy. It doesn’t need to mean anything; it’s just an embarrassing thing that happened that they’ll never talk about again.

Except....

Except she was listening in. She had heard what he was doing, had heard the rustle of him jacking off to thoughts and fantasies of her, had heard her name and not said a word. Instead, she settled down and listened.

"I thought about you. I thought about the way you’d kiss me. The way you’d feel on top of me, what you’d say, the way you’d feel. You feel really fucking good, Lin.”

Her breath is haggard, coming out shallowly. She doesn’t tell him to stop.

“I imagined your mouth everywhere--on my mouth, my chest, my cock.” It’s easily the dirtiest thing that’s ever been said between them and it has him hard all over again. Except now she’s with him, her breath in her ear. She still hasn’t said anything.

“Mel, sweetheart, say something here. Tell me to stop or to keep--”

She cuts him off, breathless. “Don’t stop.”

He groans, imagining her in his office, at his desk. He thinks about her sliding her hand down the front of her body, slipping under the band of her SHIELD issued uniform and rubbing herself, finger pressed against her clit and her head thrown back in his armchair.

“Fuck. Are you touching yourself, Melinda?”

“Y-yes.”

“Tell me.”

And finally, Phil Coulson has Melinda May in his ear, telling him everything he ever dreamed of. Her voice is sexier than he ever could have dreamed of and he’s a fucking wreck.

“I have a finger inside of me, wishing it was you, and my thumb is on my clit. I wish it was your fingers and your tongue on me, Phil.”

Fuck, yeah, he’s definitely hard again. He swallows hard, “Close your eyes, sweetheart. Listen to my voice and imagine my tongue on you, licking up every drop of you. I’d keep my head between your thighs until you’d scream for me, Mel.”

He’s pleased to hear her gasp and knows he’s on the right track. He tightens the grip he has on himself, staving off another orgasm. He wants to bring her off, wants to hear her call his name out.

“Add another finger, Melinda. Imagine that I’m pressing you into the mattress, fucking you slowly, in and out, building and building.”

A little whine is his only answer and he has to bite his lip, “Fuck, you would feel so good around me, sweetheart. So hot and tight and wet. You love the feel of me inside you, don’t you?”

“Y-yes! Phil!”

He’s gone now, both of them imagining the way they’d come together, all hot and fast and like a dam breaking. “I’d make it so fucking good for you, sweetheart.” Phil can feel himself now, close to the edge. 

“Mel, I’m so fucking close. Tell me what you need. Don’t wanna without you.”

He can hear the rustle over the comms and imagines her leaning back in his armchair, feet propped on his desk and her legs spread for her fingers. He can picture her fucking herself with her fingers, picking up speed with his words. 

“Just need you, Phil. Almost there. So close.”

He nods, his hand pumping up and down. “I’m right here, Mel. I’m always right here. Fuck.”

With a cry, he comes, spilling over his hand, her name on his lips again. This time, his own name is echoed back at him. His heart is racing and he struggles to catch his breath.

All he can hear is breathing on the other side of his comms and not for the first time since they started this, he wishes he was there with her. “May?”

“You just made me come, Phil. I think we’re past ‘May’ and ‘Coulson’, don’t you?”

He grins at her wry tone and lets out a short bark of laughter that grows into a full laugh when he hears her laughing quietly, too. The fear of any awkwardness disappears and he’s once again reaching for the rag and hand sanitizer next to him. 

Melinda is in his ear again, voice gentle. “We’ll talk about this when you get back, Director Coulson.”

He perks up at the mention of his title. “Is this the part where you tell me you have a secret fantasy about me punishing you as the Director?”

She snorts (a sound he’s always found so damn cute), “Get some sleep, Phil.”

He settles down into his sleeping bag, “’Night, Mel.” The hard ground and scratchy sleeping bag, no matter how hard he tries, feels nothing like holding her and he wishes he wasn’t in the middle of the damn woods.

He really, really hates camping.


End file.
